Limbo
by Frapper
Summary: Supernatural drama with a funny angle, borrowing elements from films like "Ghost", "The Sitxh Sense" or "Dogma". Lost souls will wander freely in Los Angeles at their particular limbo, and only the most unlikely person of all will be able to see them. (Story taking part in the Halloween Challenge, but only a bit early because I can't wait to start posting it)
1. Chapter 1

**LIMBO**

**DISCLAIMER: this story is based on the NWZ series. It is a non-profit project intent for entertainment purposes only. All copyrights on the characters belong to Zorro Productions Inc. except the supernatural ones, of course. They belong to the collective consciousness. Ha. **

_**A.N - This story takes part in the Halloween Challenge, and it's inspired by films like "Ghost" and "The Sixth Sense", and even "Dogma" or the TV series "Torchwood", borrowing some elements from them. It starts at that critical moment in the last episode of the series, "The Discovery", when Risendo is about to kill Diego. Many ff authors have written stories about this episode, and especially, about what could have happened afterwards, to give a more satisfying end to the series, but… I'll take it for a spin, giving you something new. Or at least, I hope so. If there are other stories out there similar to this one, please let me know, because I haven't read them.**_

_** All the maiming (well, if I can call it that, because… well, you'll see. No spoilers here) happens in the first chapter, in the spur of a mad moment for Risendo, and only a little bit more in the second. Things will be quiet on that front after that, so don't be put off by it. It's just a lesson Diego has to learn, something to do with Karma…**_

_** It contains quite angsty, supernatural stuff, with all the associated drama, but with funny moments at the same time. I hope you like it. **_

_** Enjoy the reading, and please, review if you can. Thanks.**_

**Chapter 1 **

At the De la Vega courtyard, Gilberto Risendo reached into his boot, pulled out a pistol, and aimed it at Diego, who had got distracted by the mind-blowing revelations.

_How can such an incredibly evil creature be my brother?_ Diego thought. _How can we share the same De la Vega blood? It's impossible!_

It was absurd. Unconceivable. Or, if using his father's favourite term: _preposterous_. 

The Spanish Emissary, the vile man he despised so much, had turned out to be his twin brother, and even more disturbingly, he had discovered his secret. Gilberto knew he was the man behind the mask of Zorro, and, as he already said, _the secret was out_. Soon, everybody would know, including his father, and Victoria, and he would very likely hang from a noose the next day, unless his _brother_ killed him right then, at his own patio, saving himself the hassle of building the official gallows for the occasion.

Diego stood still for a moment, with his shocked, stupefied mind not responding, not taking any action, paralyzed in disbelief while looking at that barrel's end. It all felt like a very bad joke, the stuff of nightmares, and… it could not be happening!

"Say goodbye to your beloved son, old man," Gilberto Risendo said. "And I have one more secret for you: when I kill Diego de la Vega, I'll also kill… ZORRO!"

BANG!

ZZZ

De Soto got Dulcinea, hoping he could escape from that miserable pueblo before Emissary Risendo would execute him by firing squad at sunset, as he had promised to do, along with Mendoza.

Like a cowardly chicken, Sergeant Mendoza had refused to escape from a certain death, taking his chances with De Soto in the hostile, eastern wild territory. As a result, the fool would now face an even more horrible death because the alcalde had refused to go easily and without a fight. De Soto felt sorry for the sergeant, but… it had been his choice, and no-one else's. Although Mendoza, loyal as he was, would not be in that situation if he had given the order to dismember _su alcalde_ in pieces instead of refusing to kill him…

_Dammit, Sergeant, you should have come with me. I'll feel guilty about this for the rest of my life!_

When he was saddling up the mare, De Soto heard voices at the hacienda's courtyard, and then, the unmistakable, metallic clink-clank noises made by swords engaged in a furious fight.

_What the hell? _

Curious to see what was happening, and how it could affect him, when he finished getting the mare ready, he got his pistols and approached the hacienda De la Vega, looking over a small gate into the patio. He had heard them arguing, but when he got there, he could not believe his eyes: the Emissary sat on the ground, apparently defeated by Diego de la Vega in a swordfight, as he held a blade over Risendo, aiming the tip at his neck.

Suddenly, when everybody was distracted, Risendo pulled a pistol from his boot. He stood up quickly, away from that sword, and aimed at Diego.

_You, filthy snake…_ De Soto thought. It looked like that deranged man was about to kill his former schoolmate in cold blood, nearly at point blank. Right then, the alcalde made a quick, bold decision, taking Diego's side. He lifted one of the guns, aimed at that wicked man's back, and pressed the trigger.

Nothing happened, not even the faintest recoil. The pistol had misfired.

_Shit! _he cursed to himself, tossing away the useless gun. He had missed the opportunity. However, Risendo didn't.

"When I kill Diego de la Vega, I'll also kill… ZORRO!"

Risendo fired his gun, and then laughed like crazy. De Soto could not believe what was happening, and especially, what that man had said.

_Diego is… Zorro? Dammit, I should have known!_

ZZZ

Immensely grateful to his guardian angel because that bullet had missed him, Diego jumped forward and ran his sword through Risendo's chest.

"NOOOO!" Don Alejandro screamed.

"Why? He tried to kill us, Father!" Diego cried, trying to justify his brutal action. For him, it was self-defence, and self-preservation. But Risendo didn't fall. He was laughing. Laughing, of all things!

Diego stabbed him again, mad, almost seeing red. The whole blade went through that chest, up to the hilt, but that man still didn't fall.

"No! Diego, no!" Don Alejandro cried again. "What have you done?!"

Ignoring his father, Diego tried a third time, and with the impulse, he fell forward and face-landed on the ground, behind Risendo, who carried on laughing viciously.

_What the…?_ Diego thought, baffled, getting up. He had the odd awareness that he hadpassed_ through _Risendo's body; a disconcerting, ridiculous idea.

"Are you surprised, _Padre_?" Risendo said. "Well, now you know how it feels to lose the most valuable thing in your life."

"Damn you, Risendo! _Maldito seas!_" Don Alejandro cried.

Diego grabbed the sword he had dropped, but it suddenly disappeared in his hand, as if it was never there. He looked back at his father, perplexed, and then… he blinked in disbelief. Lying there, in his father's arms, he saw… _himself_.

If the sword was still in his hand, he would have dropped it again, paralyzed with shock, with his mouth wide open, his jaw hanging so low it almost reached his feet.

_No… It can't be!_

Don Alejandro sat on the ground, holding Diego's inert, floppy body. Felipe was at his side, frantically trying to stop the torrent of blood gushing from a gunshot wound in his chest, right in the middle. The sword he no longer held, lay discarded on the ground beside them.

"Father, what… what's going on?" Diego said, coming closer very slowly, with short, wary steps, unable to take the eyes off that man… Off… _him_, Diego. Off his own, lifeless face.

Was that really him? He looked down at his chest. His shirt was clean, he didn't have a huge blood stain expanding in the middle. No, he wasn't shot. It couldn't be, it didn't hurt at all!

"_¿Por qué, Gilberto? ¿Por qué has hecho esto?_" Don Alejandro wailed, cradling his son's body. "Why? He'd done nothing to you! Nothing!"

"Father, I'm here!" Diego said, placing a hand on his father's shoulder, but his hand didn't touch him: it went through that body as if it wasn't there.

"Felipe!" he cried then, frantic, trying to touch him and get his attention, but the result was the same: he couldn't touch them, they didn't feel his contact. And they didn't seem to be able to see him, or hear his voice either. He was invisible to them. Like a… _ghost_. The realization was truly shocking.

_It must be true, then. I must be… dead. Holy shit! _

He looked at _Diego de la Vega _again, at the unconscious body in his father's arms, and tried to touch his own face, but his fingers one more time didn't touch flesh. His hand bounced back instead, as a magnet repulsing another with the same pole. He looked closer, baffled because that unconscious Diego seemed to be breathing, still alive, when he was supposed to be dead. He tried to touch himself one more time, but his hand got rejected again, this time producing a sparkle that hurt a bit, like a mild electrostatic discharge. The third time he tried, he received a full-blown discharge, the equivalent to a lightning bolt, and that took away the will of trying for a fourth time. At least, his father didn't seem aware or affected in the slightest by the powerful energy that got discharged so close to him.

"Diego, hold on, you're going to be all right! You're going to be all right, you're going to be all right…" Don Alejandro said, repeating it like a mantra, willing to believe it himself. His hands were covered in Diego's blood now, as he tried to stop the haemorrhage by pressing directly with his hand on the wound, because Felipe had left to get help and rugs to do the job properly.

"You rejected me when you thought I would be a cripple, but against all odds, I grew up to be a healthy man thanks to the care of my loving, adoptive mother," Risendo said then, spitting venom, possessed by his irrational hatred. "And now, I deserve to be your heir, because I was born first!"

"What on earth are you talking about, you crazy fool?!" Don Alejandro cried. "I told you: if you were my son, crippled or not, nothing in this world would have kept me away from you. And if Diego was really your brother, you should rot in hell for shooting him down in cold blood! Mark my words: you are not my son, and you'll never be a De la Vega! You're nothing but an insane, deluded bastard with a viper for a mother! A monster, that's what you are!"

Enraged by those words, like a mad bull seeing red, Risendo grabbed Don Alejandro's sword and attacked him with it.

ZZZ

BANG!

_Second time lucky_, De Soto thought. This time, the pistol fired a bullet that hit its target spot on: Risendo got shot in the back, through the heart, and fell to the ground close to Don Alejandro, losing the sword before he could stab him with it.

"Gilberto!" Inés Risendo cried, rushing to his side.

From the ground, Gilberto extended a trembling hand, whispering his last, needy word:

"Father_..._"

"Alejandro, help him! Help your son!" Inés cried hysterically.

"For the last time, woman: I'm not his father!" Don Alejandro cried in denial, refusing to take that pleading hand because his own hands were already busy holding his son. His real, dying son, the only one he had, the one he was about to lose because of that hateful man, who deserved what he had got. Risendo could rot in hell for all he cared, the same as his mother.

Inés took that feeble hand instead, but Gilberto was already dying, and didn't clench hers.

A young woman with long, dark hair braided in twin pigtails and dressed in colourful clothes, stood by her. With a kind smile, she leaned forward to close Risendo's eyes.

ZZZ

"Of course you are my father, _viejo estúpido!_" Gilberto cried, slapping the old don to get some sense onto him, but his hand didn't make contact with that face. He tried two more times, and it felt as if he was zapping flies away.

"Leave him alone!" Diego cried.

Reacting on instinct, he jumped to tackle Risendo, forgetting he could not touch anybody. To his surprise, instead of flying through that Royal Spanish Army uniform to land on his face as it happened before, this time he made contact with him, pushing Gilberto down to the ground, away from his father.

They rolled together along the patio, struggling with each other. Risendo punched his brother twice, but Diego managed to kick him away before the maniac could knock him out cold with a third blow.

They both got back on their feet as fast as they could then, like animals fighting for survival, ready to strike again. While circling each other, Diego took a hand to his bleeding, split lip, resenting it. Being dead wasn't as painless as he had initially thought!

"You! How come you are up?" Risendo cried. "I killed you! You are dead!"

"And so you are, Gilberto," Diego said, pointing at Risendo's lifeless body behind him. He imagined that the stupefied, astonished expression his brother displayed then, when he saw his dead body lying on the ground, was similar to his own only a moment ago.

However, Risendo reacted much faster than him to the bad news. Spurred by the intense hatred he felt for his sibling, he grabbed Don Alejandro's sword, that was once again lying on the ground, and lunged at Diego, who didn't have time to get out of the way. Diego could only hope that sword would just pass through his body as if piercing thin air, and then it would disappear, as it happened before when he stabbed Risendo with it, but… no. Nothing further from what happened next.

"Die!" Risendo cried viciously, stabbing Diego's chest.

Diego gasped, surprised by the immediate, sharp pain, because he had felt nothing before when he got shot. He looked down, at his now blood-stained shirt, and at the sword sticking out of it.

Risendo retrieved the sword, running the blade through Diego's body again, this time in reverse, causing another bout of searing pain.

"Die! Die! Die!" Risendo shouted, stabbing Diego with each furious cry, the blade running in and out of his torso as if cutting through butter.

Diego cried every time, feeling the unbearable pain exploding in his chest and abdomen, going backward and forward, in crescendo with each new hit. He tried to stop the sword, holding the blade with his hands, but his palms got sliced as well while his brother kept goring him mercilessly. The pain was very real, and excruciating, but he didn't feel weak or faint, or in any way felt the need to lie down to die… Of course not, because he was already dead! His stunned mind reckoned that, if that was a small glimpse of eternal pain in hell, he really, really, didn't want to experience it.

"Stop, please!" Diego cried, desperate, but Risendo carried on, recklessly. "_Para, por favor!_ _Déjame, te lo ruego!_"

"Die! Die! Diiiiieeeee!"

As that insane man kept goring him ruthlessly, like a butcher cutting a carcass in tiny pieces, Diego dropped on his back, feigning to die, lying on a pool of blood. Only then Risendo stopped. But Diego wasn't dying. He was gaping in agony, still fully conscious but struggling to breathe with that savaged thorax, that got totally mangled by that blade, ripped and pierced so many times his shirt resembled a sieve pouring blood through the holes. If he had not been dead already, he would have fainted with the pain a million times, but he didn't have the luxury of avoiding the intense, insufferable torment, by passing out.

When he saw his brother struggling like that, in so much pain and distress, Gilberto laughed again. And then, they came for him.

It started with a distant, frightening noise of grunts, shrieks, and wails that chilled Diego's aching soul, an ominous sound of vile creatures coming out of the ground, into the light, getting closer and closer. Although struggling so much, Diego lifted his torso a bit off the ground, using his elbow for support, trying to see what was approaching them. Then, he saw a bunch of black, shadowy little demons surround Gilberto, who had stopped laughing and now cried in a blind panic, terrified, trying to get away from them. The demons grabbed him and hauled him along quickly, away from Diego, who could do nothing but to watch his brother hopelessly cry for his help all the way, shrinking in size until he was as small as the evil creatures.

"Diegooooo… help meeeeee!"

The demons dragged Gilberto to a dark recess in the patio and pulled him with them under the soil, that seemed to swallow them whole, and then there was silence, only broken by Inés Risendo's cries.

Diego looked at the living. They didn't seem to have the faintest clue of what had just happened, totally oblivious to the grim scene. Of course they were, because they couldn't see them... And, unfortunately, although he was suffering so much, writhing in pain, they couldn't help him either.

De Soto had joined them now, apologizing to Don Alejandro for killing his other son, and he was trying to help him to stop the haemorrhage, using his own jacket to press on Diego's wound.

His father kept holding his now empty, soul-less body, crying over it, while Diego was in so much need of his help in the afterlife. What he wouldn't give to have his father holding his torso up to ease his breathing, just like he was doing with his corpse, to give him some comfort in that hour of need.

"Father…" he called faintly, but of course, there was no use. He couldn't hear him.

Another black demon, slightly larger than the others, lingered by Diego as he struggled to breathe, spooked and terrified by what he had just witnessed, an unable to run away from that vile little creature, because he couldn't even shuffle on his arse like a baby to put some distance between them.

"Don't worry, Diego, you don't need to stay, there's nothing for you here. Your lady will find another fool to love soon, and she won't even remember you... Or maybe she'll kill herself with the grief… One or the other, who knows, but I prefer the second option, because then she will come down with me. Oh, I love the pretty young ladies… they roast so well," the demon said, looking at Diego with his malignant, glowing red eyes, teasing him. "Yes, she'll commit suicide, and then I'll take her."

Hearing his words, threatening to take his Victoria to the underworld, Diego's fear and pain morphed into anger.

"The hell you will!" Diego managed to say, gathering all his courage and strength for that last, defying act, although he knew he was at that diabolical creature's mercy.

"You said it: to _hell_," the demon said, letting out a sinister, spine-chilling laugh. "I'll be back with my little friends to get you too. Soon, don't despair."

The demon disappeared, and then the young woman with the twin pigtails came closer.

"Don't pay any attention to him. He's just cross because he can't have you," she said, oozing compassion, taking one of his bleeding, sliced hands in hers. "Don't worry, sweetheart, Azrael will be here soon."

Stunned by the events and fully immersed in that cloud of pain and fear, Diego barely registered that the woman could see him, and talk to him. And what it was even more amazing, that she could _touch_ him, alleviating some of his suffering on contact: his hand had healed immediately, but he hadn't even noticed.

"What…?" he started, already feeling a bit better, but she took a finger to his lips.

"Shhhh… It doesn't matter. Rest now, honey. I think you had enough."

She combed his sweaty fringe back, like a mother would do, caressing his forehead, and he fell asleep more or less peacefully, forgetting the pain.

ZZZZZ


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When some of the hacienda vaqueros arrived with Felipe to help, Don Alejandro had a hard time letting go of his son's body. Despite the blood loss, and how pale he looked, Diego was still alive, still breathing, but his father had an apparent, irrational fear, as if he believed that if anybody took Diego away from him, he would die. But, the truth was, he was shocked and terrified by Gilberto's revelation: his son was Zorro, and that meant that, even if he survived this gunshot wound against all odds, Diego would be hanged. He would lose him, regardless. In a way, he had lost his son already, and he didn't want to let go of him while he was still warm.

"_Patrón_, we have to get Don Diego inside, to his room," his _capataz_ Juan Martínez said gently when the old don refused to release his son, behaving like a toddler holding onto his favourite blanket. "Andrés is on his way to the pueblo to get Doctor Hernández. _Vamos_, Don Alejandro, let go of him, please. _Suéltele_."

"No!" Don Alejandro said like a crazy old man who had lost his marbles, holding onto his son's body even tighter. "Don't touch him! He's going to be all right, you hear me? He's going to be all right! He's going to be…"

Don Alejandro broke down in tears then, unable to fool himself any longer. Juan and the other men didn't know what to do, nor did Felipe, who was also sobbing, in silence, a little bit out of the way, heartbroken. The men looked at De Soto, as he was the highest authority figure present in that courtyard.

The alcalde shook his head, sad and deeply moved by the scene. That quiet, kind man, whose blood had stained his clothes, had turn out to be the daring Zorro, the nemesis he had learned to hate and admire at the same time through the years. The man who had saved him from a horrible death by dismemberment, and… the man he had tried to kill afterwards, to save his own, sorry arse. De Soto couldn't bear that thought, it was too embarrassing. And now, with a similar way of thinking to Don Alejandro, he didn't see the point on saving Diego only to be executed later on, but he still tried to convince the traumatised, old man, to let go of his son because they had to move him inside.

"Yes, Don Alejandro, Diego is going to be all right, but his chances for survival will increase greatly if we get him to a bed right now, where we can start treating him. He can't stay on the ground until the doctor arrives, you know that."

De Soto grabbed Diego's good arm, but Don Alejandro slapped that hand away.

"Don't touch him, you fool! He'll die if you move him!"

The men looked at each other again, hesitating. Diego looked so bad, it would not make any difference: he was very likely going to die, either way, if he wasn't there yet, judging for the amount of blood he had lost already, so maybe it would be better to allow him to pass away peacefully in his father's arms, in close contact with him, as Don Alejandro so unconsciously desired.

"What about my son? What about my Gilberto?" Inés cried then, with the usual resentment in her voice. "Why don't you take care of him too?"

"Señora, I'm very sorry, but your son is dead already," De Soto said. "There's nothing we can do for him."

"Yes, you said that before, when he wasn't even dead! But he's dead now only because you killed him, you murderer!" Inés cried, standing up to face him. "And you deserve to die as well!"

As fast as the viper she was, she got a tiny gun from her purse and aimed at De Soto, but he also reacted quickly to grab her wrist, pushing it down, twisting her hand inwards.

"Drop that gun!" De Soto cried, but Inés refused to give it up, with a strength hard to believe her fragile, elderly body could possess. "Let go, for goodness sake, Lady!"

They struggled for a few seconds with the gun until it went off.

De Soto let go of her hand then, shocked and disgusted by the blood that had splattered his clothes, joining Diego's blood stains. She had shot herself in the abdomen, and when the alcalde released her hand, she finally dropped the gun and fell while holding onto her stomach, crying in pain.

"_Asesino! _You'll pay for this!" she cried from the ground, spitting hatred.

At that moment, Risendo's Royal Guardsmen arrived at the hacienda.

"_Quietos todos!_ What's going on in here?" Sergeant Romero said on entering the courtyard. He was the highest ranked soldier at that group of _Lanceros de la Guardia Real_ after Lieutenant Hidalgo had died.

"Sergeant, the Emissary is dead. I'm now reassuming full command of this pueblo," De Soto said, trying to sound confident and in control. "You and your men shall leave here at first light tomorrow. You understand what I'm saying?"

"No! Who killed the Emissary? You?" the soldier said, looking around, taking on the scene. So many dead and injured bodies lie around, and he had seen the alcalde struggling with that woman before the gun went off. "The Emissary got shot in the back, and I just saw you shoot his mother… _Guardia Real_, arrest this man! He'll be executed at sunset, in a couple of hours, as the Emissary ordered!"

"No! It was self-defence! That man was crazy! He shot Don Diego de la Vega in cold blood without a reason, and then he attacked his father! Tell them, Don Alejandro!" De Soto cried, struggling with the soldiers, but the old don was too obtunded to be of any help. "He killed your son, and he would have killed you too if I hadn't stopped him! Tell them!"

"You are under arrest, Alcalde! Stop resisting or I'll shoot you right now!" the Royal Spanish soldier said, aiming his gun at De Soto's head. "Lancers, take him away! I'm taking command of this pueblo in the name of the King!"

"She tried to kill me too! It was an accident she got shot!" the alcalde cried as the soldiers dragged him away, hitting him so he would shut up.

"And get a doctor!" the sergeant cried back, crouching down by the fallen woman, who didn't look good. She was losing a lot of blood too fast, even faster than Diego.

"He's on his way," Juan said, uneased. "We called for him already."

"That Diego de la Vega…" Inés said bitterly, in her last, vindictive deed, "… he is Zorro… My son Gilberto, your commander… said so."

"Did he?"

Sergeant Romero stood up and approached Don Alejandro.

"Is your son the criminal named Zorro?"

"What bloody difference does it make that now?!" the shocked don said, still crying while holding onto his son, not measuring his words.

"I'll take that as a yes. You're right, not much difference, if he dies now. Otherwise…"

He didn't finish his threat, as it was obvious Diego would be executed if he survived. The sergeant returned to Inés's side, but she had passed away already.

"Private Contreras, take away these bodies," he ordered. "And you, Pérez, keep an eye on Diego de la Vega until he either dies, or he wakes up."

He walked away, following the soldiers dragging De Soto.

Juan and the rest of the hacienda workers stood there, dumbfounded, still not knowing what to do. That woman had just said their young patron was…_ Zorro_? And Don Alejandro didn't deny it? Sweet Jesus, none of them saw that coming!

Felipe kneeled in front of Don Alejandro. They both cried quietly, grief-stricken. The boy started signing slowly, pointing at himself, at his head, then drawing a discreet Z into the air, to finally point at his lips and then at Don Alejandro.

"You knew about this?" the old don whispered through his tears. The youngster nodded. "And you'll tell me all about it, all that you know?"

Felipe nodded again, and gently took Don Alejandro's hands off Diego. The old don nodded to his men then, finally releasing his son. The secret was finally out, the soldiers knew, and he had lost him. As his men carried Diego inside, Don Alejandro took a moment to embrace Felipe, and they both cried unconsolably in each other's arms.

ZZZ

The young woman with the colourful dress and pigtails, bent down to close Inés Risendo's eyes. After the soldiers had gone with De Soto, that nasty, malevolent soul got released from her carnal prison.

"Who are you?" was the first thing she asked, sharply. Her bitterness had not improved at all with her passing.

"Death. I came to sever your attachments to this life. You are released, Inés, free from your body now."

"Death? Don't make me laugh. You don't look like _La Parca_, you look like a birdbrain who would rather attend a picnic party instead of a funeral," Inés replied cynically.

"_Sí, señora_. I wish I could go to a picnic party instead of doing this particular assignment, sure."

Inés ignored her, turning her attention to Don Alejandro, who was crying while talking to Felipe, with Diego still in his arms. He was crying his heart out, overcome by the grief, totally devastated by the loss, the same as the young servant.

"That's it, Alejandro, you deserve to suffer!" she cried, coming closer to taunt him. "Now you'll lose both your sons, you fool!"

"He can't hear you," the Grim Reaper said. "And you know what? What you are doing is not nice. You should better watch your mouth, although… nah, it's too late for you now."

"Too late for what?"

"You'll see in a moment. Those black guys don't usually hang around, they like to collect their customers pretty quickly, as soon as they are available."

"What are you talking about, young lady?"

"Oh, thank you! I do look much younger like this, don't I?" Death said, delighted, showing the elderly woman her beautiful dress, but Inés looked at her disdainfully. "Look, as I said before, when you didn't pay any attention, you are dead, my dear."

"Don't be ridiculous! I can't be…" Her next words died in her throat when Inés saw herself lying immobile on the ground. "What's going on? What's this?"

As Diego had done, she approached herself to touch her own body, but she couldn't, and she couldn't touch Gilberto's either, her hand passing through those bodies as it would pass through smoke. She looked around, frantic, spotting another Diego lying a few meters away from them, in a pool of blood.

"Why there are two Diegos?" she asked, looking at both, alternating her gaze between them. "And why two of me, but only one Gilberto, if he's dead too?"

"They already came to collect him, sorry. But don't worry, I think you'll join him soon."

Inés walked to the other Diego then, curious. When she saw the state he was in, she smiled, pleased, because he looked even worse than the other one. She tentatively touched his body with her right foot, and as she could feel it, she kicked his side to wake him up, but he didn't.

"Hey, Lady, that's not nice either, you should back off, and let him rest," _la Muerte_ said, becoming cross for the first time, but with her flowery, cheerful appearance, she didn't look dangerous enough to intimidate the likes of Inés Risendo.

Inés ignored that young woman one more time, and kicked Diego's side again, much harder than before. He woke up then, gasping, and his eyes focused on the wicked, elderly face hovering over him. Once again, he couldn't breathe, and the pain was… something else. Indescribable.

"Help me," he said with bulging, desperate, pleading eyes, but the nasty old woman kicked him again instead, infuriated. Diego cried in agony then, beyond despair.

"It's your fault Gilberto is dead! But at least you are too, so your father will suffer on his own now, without descendants, as he deserves! He shouldn't have tricked me, implying he would leave his wife Elena for me, the filthy, indecent liar! But I couldn't have kids of my own, and he wanted children so much, he stayed with her… I hate him! I hate him!"

She was about to kick Diego again when she felt a horrendous searing pain entering her back, advancing through her chest. She cried in horror when she saw a huge blade coming out, between her breasts, curling towards her chin, nearly reaching it.

"I told you that's not nice!" Death bellowed, roaring in a deafening, deep, scary and ominous voice, lifting Inés a few meters above the ground, suspended from a bloody scythe, as if she was fresh, long grass ripped from a field. The old woman screamed like crazy, in fear and in pain, with her legs dangling in the air. She couldn't see who was holding her up, but it no longer was the sweet young lady in a flowery dress she had scorned before; it was a huge, dreadful skeleton in a black, tatty robe.

Diego was busy experiencing what it felt like dying for a second time, in his own cloud of pain, and he didn't pay much attention to what was going on, until he heard again the eerie grunts and wails of the black demons approaching.

With a flick of her wrists, Death sent Inés flying away at great speed, as discarded goods. She crashed in a cloud of dust right in front of the demons, who grabbed her quickly and, just as they had done with her son, they dragged her to hell while she screamed her head off in fear.

"Hey, Reaper, looking good!" the largest black demon said, with his red, glowing eyes looking at the figure beyond Diego, who'd swear he could suddenly smell rotten flesh. "The classic look suits you much better, darling. Why don't you keep it, permanently?"

"Thanks, but no, thanks, darling," Death replied. "Please, take that bitch from hell with you before I do something inappropriate for my position."

"No worries: job done, she's gone," the demon said when his little minions took Inés under the ground, and her wailing stopped. He pointed at Diego then. "What about him? Is he ready to go yet?"

"In your dreams, love… He's not for you. Oh, look: Azrael!" _la Santa Muerte_ said with her cheerful, maiden voice now, no longer deep and ominous. She was obviously happy to see this guy materialize a few meters away from them. She waved at him excitedly. "Azrael, over here!"

"Dammit, that righteous party pooper!" the demon said, retreating. "He's such a buzzkill... All right, see you later, darling."

The black demon disappeared, back into the ground with the others. Azrael got to Death's side.

"_Hola, querida_. How's Grumpy? The usual?"

"Yes, but maybe mellowing a bit, because it took him a while to collect this woman that belonged to him so clearly… Not like Diego. Please, take good care of him. He's a good one!"

"I know."

"And so handsome!"

"Yes, I know that too," he said, looking bored. He had the tone and the patience of a tired parent dealing with a stroppy toddler high on sugar. "But how good-looking he is, is not relevant."

"Azrael, come on!" she said, laughing jovially. "You really are a buzzkill, as Grumpy said!"

"Sure, you know me, of course I am… Now, let me do my job, will you?"

"Yes, please, work your magic on him. He had enough of this shit, the poor guy. Bye for now, lovie, see you in no time at all!"

_La Catrina_ disappeared into thin air, but Diego was barely aware of her departure. He looked back at the living, but they were all gone, nobody remained in the patio but him. Juan and the other workers had moved his body inside, and his father and Felipe had eventually followed them. The soldiers had placed the Risendo's bodies onto a flat cart, and they had driven them away to be buried at the cemetery. Diego was alone now at the courtyard with this mysterious man in his late fifties, who dressed in plain, simple, cream coloured, peasant clothes. He had a nice face, with intelligent, caring, grey-green eyes, hazel hair, and a serene and calm look about him. An even-tempered, unfazed man, with a sedative aura. His mere presence was… soothing.

"Help me," Diego said, without much hope, but the man replied to his petition.

"That's why I came."

"Can you see me?" Diego said, blinking with relief. Help, at last!

"Of course I can."

"Are you… dead?"

"No, not exactly dead, no. But I can see you. And help you. My name is Azrael, at your service. I'm here to help you in your transition."

"I am…" Diego said, struggling to say his name, consumed already by the effort of talking.

"I know who you are…" Azrael said, helping him to sit up. His breathing improved instantly with that simple move. "…Diego de la Vega."

Diego started to feel much better, feeling calm and secure in that man's arms.

"Relax, you can breathe now."

"I feel much better already, thank you," Diego said, finally able to breathe, although the pain was still lingering. "Tell me: why did Risendo do this, and how, if I am dead already? And why was he allowed to do it?"

"He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword," Azrael said.

"You mean… _me_? I never hurt anyone with my sword!" Diego complained.

"Have you forgotten already how you tried to stab your brother three times in a row not that long ago?"

"But I couldn't do it, because I was already dead!"

"But you didn't know that then... So, basically, stop complaining: you brought this on yourself. And now you know how awful it feels. Lesson learned. Some people call it Karma, but I call it _readjustment_, a necessary evil before you can move on."

Azrael lifted his hand to touch Diego's forehead and he fell asleep peacefully again, ending the struggle.

ZZZZZ

_**A.N – I don't know about you, but this issue has always bugged me: there was no proper reason given in the series for Inés Risendo to resent Don Alejandro so much as to steal his first-born son. To me, this is a huge, unexplained hole, so I gave the explanation I personally like the most in here: that crazy woman felt rejected by him somehow, and that's why she planned her revenge during the years. Kinda like a deluded, crazy fan stalking a star. Now we'll need Don Alejandro to explain exactly how far that "affair" really went with her. Ha! But I'll do that later on. Now I'm busy raising the death count in the pueblo. **_

_**Thanks for the interest in this story, and for your kind reviews. I hope you carry on reading (and reviewing) with the same enthusiasm. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When Diego opened his eyes, he found himself at the tavern, sitting at a table with Azrael. He looked down at his white shirt, feeling his chest with both hands. The shirt was clean, without a trace of blood or tears in the fabric. Even the blood stain from the gunshot wound in his arm was gone, the same as the dreadful, incapacitating pain.

"Welcome back," Azrael said with his affable, kind smile.

"What happened? How come…?"

"Nothing happened," Azrael interrupted. "You are ready to wait now. And in the meantime, we can talk."

A couple of patrons engaged in a lively conversation wandered towards them, and rather than walking around their table, they kept going straight, across it, passing through them. Diego stood up quickly to move out of the way, only too late, because one of them walked across his ethereal body.

"Whoa! That was so… creepy!" Diego said, feeling his torso again.

"The living can't see us. This is a special table I put up in here, just for us."

Diego looked around. Azrael was right. Usually, that spot was an empty space at the tavern, for passing, without any tables. Diego touched the table's surface, and knocked on it softly.

"It's solid."

"But only for us."

"Wow. Wicked!" Diego said, smiling, taking his seat again.

"I'll settle for _divine_ instead, if you don't mind."

"Who are you, Azrael? Are you an angel or something?"

"Or something, yes… Close enough. I am the Archangel Azrael, _the Angel of Death_."

"Really? An Archangel in Nuestra Señora de Los Ángeles? Am I so important a simple angel won't do around here?" Diego said, tongue-in-cheek.

"You've never heard of me, have you?" Azrael said, ignoring the joke.

Diego shook his head.

"No wonder… It's always Michael _this_, or Gabriel _that_… or, if you are a Bible freak, maybe Uriel _what-have-you._ The rest of us… well, nobody knows us, except The Metatron, maybe. Pity."

"I'm sorry, but…"

"It's not your fault, Diego, never mind… Anyway, let me explain who I am: my role as the Angel of Death is helping the lost souls in their transition after physical death. Especially wandering souls, such as yourself."

A tall, slender, dark haired pretty woman with a very intricate, braid updo hairstyle, and dressed in a very colourful, flowery skirt and top, walked purposely towards their table. Diego thought she would pass by them, as the living did, but no, she stopped by Azrael and talked to him as anybody would do with an old friend. Diego recognized her then. He had seen her before: first, by Inés Risendo when Gilberto died, and the second time, taking his hand so kindly, helping him fall asleep despite the pain. And maybe also when Inés had attacked him, but all that episode was way too blurry for him to make sense.

"I'm so thrilled! I'm bagging a few souls in this pueblo in only one day. They are dropping like flies! That kind of thing makes me so… happy," that woman said, looking truly ecstatic, taking a seat at Azrael's right side.

"I bet it does," Azrael said, utterly indifferent, showing a stark contrast with her enthusiasm.

"How come you are happy?" Diego said, disconcerted. "How can anybody be happy about people dying?"

"Oh, don't you know who I am yet?" the young woman said, almost offended, slapping his forearm in an over-friendly manner. "Diego!"

Diego shook his head slowly, fascinated by that odd woman. He had no idea who she was, why she could see him, or why she knew his name.

"Excuse me, Diego, I thought you did. I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself properly to you, because your delightful passing was so fast and furious you probably didn't have time to notice me standing by… I'm _La Muerte_, A.K.A "The Grim Reaper". Nice to meet you," the young woman said, tending her hand.

"Who? Say again?" Diego said, politely taking the delicate hand that strange lady was offering, shaking it gently with an automatic gesture, because something in his guts didn't let him kiss it.

"The Grim Reaper. Death. _La Santa Muerte. La catrina. __La Parca.._. Jeez, I have so many names! Choose whichever you prefer, it doesn't matter. One thing you should know is that I have a close, working relationship with the Dark Angel and the Angel of Death," the woman said, beaming, placing a hand on Azrael's shoulder. "Azrael is my favourite, of course."

"I thought the Grim Reaper was depicted as a fleshless skeleton with a black robe and wielding a large scythe," Diego mused, thinking out loud.

"Oh, that's so old fashioned…" _La Muerte_ said, rolling her eyes. "You have to move with the times, Diego, this is 1820! I love how the Mexicans have more consideration of my very important role here. They venerate me like this, all cheerful, with flowers and all. Isn't it much nicer? A skeleton with a black robe…." she added with a dismissive gesture of her hand, rolling her eyes again. "If I had appeared like that to you, we would not be here having a nice and civilized conversation, would we?"

"We wouldn't?" Diego said, at a loss. He had no idea what she was on about, or why on earth he was accepting all the bizarre news and explanations without much wonder.

"Wanna bet? Hold on, I'll show you, and you tell me what you think."

The cheerful Catrina stood up then, and quickly transformed into a huge skeleton several feet taller than Diego. The skeleton wore a frayed, worn-out, old black robe, and stunk to high heavens with the putrid smell of rotten flesh, with some maggots crawling over the naked bones of its fingers. The scythe it wielded was covered in fresh blood, that dripped a few small droplets on their table.

Diego quickly pushed back his chair, instinctively getting some distance from that dreadful vision, horrified.

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Azrael said, covering his nose, for the first time losing his composure, showing some emotion. "If you are going to revert to your original form, at least take a bath in lavender oil or something, woman! Jesus!"

"See my point? I've always been an outcast, until I adopted this beautiful form," la _Santa Muerte _said, adopting again the youthful, healthy human appearance of a cheerful maid.

"Thank you," Azrael said, taking a deep breath, shaking his head in disgust.

"I seeeeee…" Diego said very slowly, nodding, still frightened and mesmerized, but trying to calm down, coming closer to the table again by shuffling his chair forward. "I couldn't agree more: your old outfit is a killer of civilized conversations."

"Exactly. Oops, sorry for the mess," she said, wiping off the drops of blood from the table with the edge of her long skirt. "That crazy woman made me use the scythe. I haven't used it in decades, it's going to need a good clean… Now, Diego, are you happy with your transition? Is Azrael taking good care of you?"

"Yes, he's learning the ropes," Azrael said before Diego could answer, a bit uncomfortable, because he was behind schedule and he hadn't touched the important, deeps matters yet. For his standards of perfection, it was a bit of a failure.

"I asked _him_," La Catrina said. "Let him talk. He's not a baby."

"I… I don't know what to think yet. I wasn't ready for any of this," Diego said.

"Believe me, everybody knows one day they will meet me, because everybody is already dying from the very moment they are born… However, only a few are truly prepared to greet me when the time comes. What a shame."

"At least you are popular, everybody knows you," the Archangel said, with a hint of jealousy in his tone.

"Azrael! It's so good to see you can still show a trace of human emotions, if only a bit of… of…" she trailed off, looking worried. "Oh, no. Oh, dear… It's not _envy_, is it, Az? Because your Boss won't be happy about that, ah?"

Azrael looked at her with the serene expression back on his face, but slightly irked because he had to explain himself to her.

"Of course it's not envy, my dear. It's more like a… longing. My job and that of the other less recognized Archangels would be much easier if the general population knew about us, believe me."

"You should invest in public relationships then, _amigo mío_," she said, slapping Azrael's back, laughing one more time.

"But don't worry so much about me falling victim of the Deadly Sins. At least I practice humility," he said, looking at his clothes, and then at her pretty dress in return. "And I didn't fall for wrath as someone else did not that long ago…"

"Touché," she said, laughing again, "I sympathize with those sins, of course. After all, they are _deadly_... But in my role, I'm allowed to get angry as I see fit, and that horrible woman got on my nerves today, sorry. If I cannot go wild from time to time, how will I ride with my friends War, Famine and Plague at the End of Days to wreak havoc? I have to practice beforehand, silly billy…"

She turned her attention back to Diego then.

"Your case, Diego, is a very special one, because you are still alive. Well, you are technically dead, but not quite there yet…"

"It's your own fault you are stuck in here, Diego," the Archangel said. "It was your desire to harm your brother and seek revenge what made you abandon your mortal body too early, before it was time. Now, you can't return to it, but as you are not dead yet, you cannot progress from here either. This is another lesson, or a trial, whatever you want to call it. If you fail the test… well, you saw what happened to your brother, and to that woman… The black guys could still come to get you. But if you pass, you'll go up instead. I hope you'll make the right decisions, because you are on borrowed time here. But don't worry, on most occasions you have lived a life of virtue, selflessly helping others. You'd have to do a huge malicious effort now to end up at the dark side."

"So, this is what we call _Limbo_?"

"Yes, exactly, you are stuck in between worlds. With us!" Death said, clapping happily.

"How lovely!" Diego said, failing to smile back.

Azrael's words had reminded Diego that his physical body was still _alive_, surrounded by the living. He wondered then how his father, Felipe, and above all, Victoria, were doing, and how they would cope with his death. He looked around, but he couldn't see Victoria. She would be either at the De la Vegas already, crying all over him, or in the kitchen preparing meals, out of sight and totally oblivious of the events at the hacienda.

"Well, I could leave now, but I'd prefer to stick around to finish the job when you are ready to go," _la Muerte_ said.

"How charming," Azrael said. "You are so committed to your job, aren't you, dear?"

"Yes, I am, of course. The same as you are. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have another customer to greet, soon. Someone in his prime. It's so exciting!"

"The alcalde," Diego said, quite sad. Through the open tavern's door, he could see the firing post up and ready. People were already gathering at the plaza to see the execution.

"Yes, he will join our little club soon. Although… wait a second, let me check…" _la Santa Muerte_ said, looking at a small, cute, pink notebook she carried in a pocket in her skirt. "Yes, I thought so, there are two this time! I'll do a double. You'll love the first one, Azrael. He's one of the good guys, he'll go straight up."

"I already know that, thank you. Unlike you, I did my homework, and I don't need reminders," Azrael said, with his naturally dignified aura, that didn't carry a trace of arrogance or pomposity. Then he added, showing a bit of emotion, with real sorrow in his eyes: "It's a shame he has to go like that."

"Yeah, pity... Well, guys, I hear the call of duty," she said, standing again, squeezing their shoulders in her over-friendly, casual manner.

"Later…" Azrael said, nodding, as Death headed outside.

"How can you be so casual about all this?" Diego said.

"Everyday business, Diego, everyday business… More of the same. Everybody dies," the Archangel said, pragmatic, with a shrug.

Diego spotted Victoria then, and focused his full attention on her. Juan Martínez, their foreman, was talking to her.

"Does she know what happened to me?" Diego said.

"Not yet, but she's about to find out," Azrael said.

Victoria gasped in shock, taking a hand to cover her gaping mouth.

"Also about Zorro?"

"No, not yet. But she will find out, soon."

"Yes, of course. Excuse me."

Diego stood up and headed in her direction.

"She can't see you!" Azrael said, but Diego carried on walking, ignoring him.

"How bad is it? Is he going to be alright?" Victoria said, anxious.

"We don't know. Doctor Hernández is with him right now, trying to remove the bullet. Don Alejandro was a bit reluctant to tell you, because there's nothing you can do, and he didn't want to disturb you, but I thought you should know, especially because he is… well, you know…"

"Disturb me? Not at all! Diego is my dear friend. Yes, I want to see him, of course, and be by his side to make sure he's going to be alright. Give me a minute and I'll go with you to the hacienda."

"Victoria, I'm here," Diego said at her back, trying to tap her shoulder, but she turned and walked through his body as if she was passing through a curtain of smoke. Diego gasped, looking down at his chest, tapping on it with both hands. It was so weird, because he felt… well, _solid, _like the table before.

_Shit, I'll never get used to this!_

Right then, Sergeant Romero and some Royal Guardsmen entered the tavern, dragging alcalde De Soto along, in shackles. Mendoza was still at the tavern, at a table at the side, counting down the minutes to his inevitable demise, and he jumped from his seat when they passed him by.

"Alcalde!"

"Mendoza, why on earth are you still here? You should have left hours ago, you fool!"

Romero pulled from the chain linked to the heavy iron ring fitted around De Soto's neck and dragged him to the counter, staggering along, with a loud clanking of chains.

"Are the shackles really necessary, even on his neck, like a slave?" Victoria said, outraged. "Why are you treating him like this?"

"This is a dangerous man, Señorita. He killed Emissary Risendo and his mother this afternoon, while trying to escape," Romero said.

"Is that true?" Victoria said. De Soto nodded, embarrassed. "Why?"

"Well, it was an accident…" De Soto started, but Romero tugged at the chain again to pull his head down to keep him quiet.

"This maggot asked for a drink as his last request. He'll be dead in less than twenty minutes, so he may as well have a last brandy now."

"Yes, please, Victoria. I really need a drink," De Soto said, lifting his head again. "Make it a double. Or a triple."

Victoria didn't say anything. She went behind the bar and took a bottle from under the counter. She poured a very generous amount of the dark, amber liquid in a glass, and pushed it toward the alcalde, who had trouble to grab and lift the glass with the heavy, tight manacles that bonded his wrists.

"Gracias," De Soto said after he managed to gulp it down in one go.

"What about the sergeant?" Victoria asked.

Two Guardsmen had taken Mendoza's upper arms from the sides, and he had let them lift him as if he was a puppet.

"He can have one too. He's also going to need it," Romero said.

"I'm sorry about Don Diego, Señorita," De Soto said while she poured more brandy in another glass. He leaned forward then, to get closer to her ear, and whispered: "I never suspected he could be the one."

"The one what?"

"Shhhhhh… don't…"

Romero roughly yanked De Soto off the counter, and handed the chain back to the guardsmen, making space at the bar for Mendoza, who also took the offered glass quite eagerly.

"Thank you, Señorita. God Bless you."

"Señorita Escalante, I've been told you are Zorro's girlfriend," Romero said while Mendoza drank his brandy.

"So?" she said, defiantly, settling the now empty bottle on the counter.

"You must be devastated he's been captured and injured so badly."

"What?" she said, shocked. "Injured? Captured?"

"Emissary Risendo shot him down this afternoon. And as you are his accomplice, I think you should be punished as well, for not revealing his identity to the authorities when you had the chance, because you knew it so well, didn't you?"

"What are you talking about? I don't know who he is!"

"She doesn't know," De Soto said, taking her side, trying to help her, although he doubted she really didn't know. How could she not know who was her boyfriend for years? The same as Don Alejandro: his own son? Come on, he couldn't be so stupid as not knowing! "Nobody knew. This has been a great shock for all of us, including his father."

"Am I talking to you, vermin? Shut up!" Romero said, pulling from the chain again, this time going up, choking him. "His father knew. He didn't deny it."

"That man was so shocked after losing two sons within minutes, he couldn't tell you the time of day!" De Soto said while struggling to breathe, using both hands to pull from the ring that crushed his throat. "Risendo was Diego's twin brother."

Romero punched his abdomen, and then his mouth, sending him to the floor.

"Stop repeating that outrageous nonsense!"

"That's what the Emissary said, and his mother said it as well! That's why they had to get rid of me, to kill Diego and make Risendo the heir to the De la Vega's fortune!"

Romero kicked his side quite hard, but De Soto carried on, irrepressible. He knew he had to spread the word before they would shut his mouth for ever. That's why he had chosen the tavern for that last drink, to have an audience.

"She said Diego is Zorro, but she made that up!" the alcalde cried so everybody in the tavern would hear him. "She wanted him dead either way, Zorro or not!"

"What?" Victoria and Mendoza said at the same time, shocked, her face turning pale as a sheet. Worried as she was already about Diego, it was too much for her.

A loud murmuring spread across the tavern when everybody wondered what was going on, with all sort of misinformation about what happened at the De la Vegas passing from mouth to ear. Victoria came out from behind the counter then, approaching De Soto, walking past Juan, who was still by the bar.

"What did she say?"

"That Diego is Zorro."

"Diego is … _what_?"

"See, Sergeant? She doesn't know!" De Soto insisted. "It's a lie, Victoria. She lied!"

"Take him out to the plaza and tie him to the firing post! I had enough of his nonsense," Romero said, and then he pointed at Mendoza. "And take the sergeant outside too, but don't tie him yet."

The soldiers dragged them out, while they complained and struggled.

Diego, still standing there, close to the action, invisible to everyone, was impressed.

_What are you playing at now, Ignacio? Have you suddenly grown a conscience?_

"What's going on?" Victoria said in a whisper, facing Romero. "Please, tell me, because I swear to God, I don't know what are you talking about."

"Señorita, as I'm sure you know by now," Romero said, looking at Juan, "your _friend _Diego de la Vega is injured. If he survives the gunshot he received, he'll be hanged at the gallows as his alter-ego: Zorro."

Victoria turned even paler then and fainted, but she didn't hit the ground because Juan moved fast enough to catch her in his arms.

ZZZZZ


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

When Doctor Hernández arrived, Diego had lost a lot of blood, and the colour was completely drawn off his face, but he was still breathing, with a relatively strong pulse. Despite the wound's location, the doctor concluded the bullet had only pierced the lung, not touching the heart or any of the major blood vessels, or he would be dead already. But removing that bullet without causing more damage would be a very difficult task, if not plain impossible.

When he checked Diego's blue eyes, the absolute lack of reaction to the light from his pupils was disconcerting. His eyes looked somehow… _lifeless_, like the eyes of a dead fish, with the widely dilated, non-reactive pupils fixed in the middle, looking a bit cloudy. The doctor couldn't find a more suitable word to describe them, other than "empty", but he kept that information to himself. There was no need to alarm his father even more; the situation was bad enough already.

"Don Alejandro, I must find that bullet, but before I start, I want you to realize it will be a very risky procedure."

"I know. It's too close to his heart, isn't it?" the old don said. He stood with Felipe at the other side of the bed, watching the doctor examine his son, with his arms firmly crossed over his chest, so his hands would not fiddle and he wouldn't be tempted to bite his fingernails.

"Yes. And I could make matters worse. I could kill him instead of helping him."

"I think it's a miracle he's still alive," the old don said, wiping off a stray tear. "What are his chances for survival if you don't remove it?"

"Close to none, I'm afraid. If I manage to remove that bullet, it will be still touch and go, but if we leave it there, he'll develop a high fever and die, without a doubt."

"Do it, then," Don Alejandro said, nodding, setting his jaw with determination. Even if Diego could be hanged later on as Zorro, he had to try. If he survived, they would cross that bridge when they come to it, because he couldn't just watch his son suffer a slow, inevitable death without doing anything. "I have great faith in you, Doctor. Just do your best, and don't worry about the outcome."

"Thank you for your trust, Don Alejandro. I hope everything goes well, I really do," Doctor Hernández said, taking the instruments he would need from his medical bag, in preparation for surgery.

ZZZ

Felipe was adamant he had received medical training from Diego, and he insisted on helping the doctor, who was happy to have an assistant for once. While they performed the risky surgery, Don Alejandro waited at the library on his own, alone with his chaotic thoughts.

His mind was numbed by the grief and the shock, and he couldn't think clearly enough. He would have preferred keeping busy, talking to other people instead, because having his mind flooded by all those upsetting thoughts was too hard, but he also needed that time alone to reflect on the situation.

First of all, how could Diego be Zorro? It was an outrageous idea, but the moment Risendo said it, right before he shot Diego down, he knew it was true. In an instant, all the incongruities in Diego's life made sense. All the nagging feelings he had about his son —who had changed so much at his return from Spain— had an explanation: Diego was pretending. He could see clearly now that all the odd, cowardly behaviour, had been nothing but a farce, and he had fallen for it like a fool, scolding Diego at any occasion he had. But, why did he never tell him what he was doing? Why? It didn't make sense to him. He could only hope Diego would survive and tell him his reasons at some point, instead of having to question Felipe about it.

But the issue about Zorro was only one of his worries, and only causing a small portion of the guilt and embarrassment he felt right then. That day, he had found out he had another son, only to lose him within five minutes from that unsettling discovery, and he felt so responsible about the whole fiasco, in his desperation he wanted to scream the place down and bang his head against the wall like an insane lunatic, to release some of that pain.

At first, he didn't recognize Inés Risendo at all, but when he finally did, he had not been totally honest about her. Thirty-three years ago, he had employed Inés to help his wife Elena during her pregnancy, that much was true, but Elena didn't have any suspicions about her; only Don Alejandro did. He was the only one to blame for what had happened at the courtyard, only because more than three decades ago he had been weak and stupid, and had failed to handle appropriately the dangerous situation that went on for months in his house at Madrid before Diego and Gilberto were born.

In several occasions, that strange woman had behaved inappropriately when they were alone, insinuating her availability without any trace of decorum, getting bolder as the weeks went by. Because Elena had a difficult gestation, the doctor had advised abstinence for the duration of her pregnancy, and due to the nature of her job, Inés had found out about this. One day that Don Alejandro failed to avoid her and got cornered at the cellar, she boasted the fact she could not have children of her own, and that casual sex would not have any undesirable consequences for them. That day, she tried to seduce him so aggressively, Don Alejandro thought there was something seriously wrong with her head, because she could not handle rejection like a normal person with an ounce of self-dignity would.

She became fixated with him to the point of obsession, but because good, experienced midwifes available for exclusive, full-time employment were so difficult to find, instead of firing her he just rejected her advances for a while, trivializing her behaviour, merely avoiding to be in the same room with her unless another person was present, choosing to ignore the magnitude of the problem.

It was a big mistake, because one night, when he returned from a political party where he had one drink too many, she crawled into his bed, and at that moment of clouded judgement, he nearly allowed her to seduce him fully, almost consummating, until he kicked her out of his bedroom in a narrow escape. The next day, when he told her she had to go, she threatened to tell Elena he had taken advantage of her in his hour of "need", raping her.

By then, the doctor had ordered strict rest in bed for Elena, and he made another mistake: he allowed Inés to stay to avoid upsetting his wife and causing a premature delivery.

The last two weeks under the same roof with that crazy woman were hell on earth for him, until he got an order to travel to Cádiz urgently. He didn't trust Inés at all, but it was a direct order from the King he couldn't refuse, so he left his father-in-law in charge of everything. By the time he returned to Madrid, Diego was born and that woman had disappeared without a trace.

How could he have suspected she had taken a stolen baby with her? How? If anything, for a while he feared she could claim she had given birth to an illegitimate De la Vega child, but as he never heard from her again for more than thirty years, he had forgotten about her. Until now.

The news of a secret son had been totally mind-blowing, for him and for Diego, who looked really affected by the unbelievable news of a lost, twin brother. But Gilberto was so bitter, so poisoned by the lies that woman must have told him, he didn't hesitate shooting his own brother, and he would have killed his father too if De Soto had not killed him before. What an unbearable mess. And now Gilberto and Inés were dead, and Diego would probably die within the next few hours, due to his remarkable stupidity.

Don Alejandro buried his face in his hands and cried fresh tears again, mortified, feeling old and lonely as never before.

ZZZ

When Victoria came to, everybody was at the plaza, except Juan and Pilar. She insisted to see what was happening, so they helped her to walk outside, despite feeling so upset, weak and dizzy. Diego walked behind them, gutted because he could not help anybody anymore, especially Victoria.

De Soto was tied to the execution firing post, and as before, he had proudly refused the blindfold. The four Royal Guardsmen forming the firing squad waited in position in front of him, holding their muskets at rest, waiting for the order to aim. The other Spanish soldiers already aimed their weapons at the angry crowd and at the unarmed California lancers, who could rebel about the situation too if it got out of hand. Private Sepúlveda looked specially upset, but the same as the others, he didn't know what to do to stop the madness for a second time. In everybody's mind, if Don Diego was really Zorro, and he was fighting for his life at the hacienda, who would come to the rescue today? Nobody.

Mendoza was sweating gallons while awaiting his fate, not sure what it would be. When Sergeant Romero opened his mouth to address him, he made a quick, not thoroughly thought-out, plea.

"Emissary Risendo said we had three days to capture Zorro, and it looks like you have him already… Shouldn't we walk free?"

"You, maybe. But your alcalde is a traitor who murdered two people today," Romero said, looking at De Soto with disgust. Then, he reflected on Mendoza's rushed words. "Sergeant, do you mean you agree Don Diego is the man behind the mask of Zorro? Because your alcalde doesn't think so."

"Oh, well, I… I don't know. It's possible… ehem… maybe…"

"What if he survives, Sergeant?" De Soto said, looking at Mendoza, and then at Victoria, who looked desperate. He had suddenly grown a conscience, because he had nothing to lose: Romero would execute him for killing Emissary Risendo and his mother, regardless of Zorro's fate. He shook his head slowly, hoping the dopey sergeant would understand what he had implied.

Mendoza gulped. He considered Don Diego his _friend_, and he could not believe the gentle caballero could be Zorro. It was shocking news. But if he was… He turned to look at Victoria as well, and he felt extremely sorry for her, and for Don Alejandro. The alcalde was right: if they claimed Zorro had been wounded and apprehended, only to save their own lives, Don Diego would be hanged later on if he survived. What a predicament!

"Sergeant Mendoza, right now it's impossible for me to know if Diego de la Vega is or isn't Zorro, so I can't get you off the hook on the premise that Zorro has been arrested," Romero said. "However, as a deference to a comrade in rank, and because I know only too well the kind of unpleasant tasks we have to perform while following the chain of command —this execution is a clear example— I'll give you a last chance to prove that you can follow orders as well as I do without questioning them. If you do, I won't execute a good soldier of the Spanish Army, because that would be a waste."

"Follow orders? Yes, I love following orders," Mendoza said, hopeful, forgetting that not following the last order he had been given was the only reason why he was in that pickle on the first place.

"In that case, take this gun, and shoot your alcalde," Romero said, handing over a pistol.

"I can't do that! Please, don't ask me to do that! Not again!"

"That's the order, Sergeant. Shoot this traitor, this treacherous murderer you have for alcalde, proving that you were only following his twisted orders, and I won't punish you. Otherwise, you'll be shot as well for treason."

"But…"

"Go ahead. You have ten seconds to make the right decision."

As Romero got out of the way, Mendoza turned to face De Soto, who tried to make it easy for him, trying to save his life.

"I betrayed you, Sergeant, don't forget. You could have faced a horrible death on your own because I tried to escape. You should pull that trigger without any remorse."

"I'm counting," Romero said then. "Ten…"

"Please, go ahead. Shoot," De Soto insisted. "I forgive you. And don't worry: you won't go to hell because of this."

The alcalde stood tall, as much as his bonds allowed him, and then looked at the front, dead serious, lifting his chin with dignity. Mendoza hesitated, clearly unwilling to be his executioner.

"Nine…"

"No! This is wrong! I won't do it!" Mendoza cried.

"Eight…"

"Pull that trigger, Mendoza, don't be a fool! They're going to kill you otherwise!" De Soto cried then, increasingly upset, struggling with his bonds. How could he make Mendoza understand this was the lesser of two evils?

"Seven…"

"Don't worry about me, I'm dead already! Shoot and at least you'll walk away free! _Vamos, _do it, pull that trigger!"

"Six…"

"Please, don't make me do this! Please!" Sergeant Mendoza said with a tiny voice. He lifted the gun and aimed at De Soto with a rather shaky hand, narrowing his eyes in a desolated grimace, trying not to look at him in the eye.

"Five…"

There was a complete, stony silence at the plaza, only broken by Romero's counting. One of the Royal Guardsmen, enjoying the scene greatly, left out a snigger, that everybody heard.

"I can't watch this!" Victoria said, burying her face in Juan's chest as she had done before at Don Alejandro's, the last time De Soto was about to be killed. Diego wished she could take refuge in his arms instead, as so many times before in that kind of situation —except when he was about to show up as Zorro, and in his absence, his father would take on that protective, soothing role. But Victoria couldn't see him there, standing by her side. He wished for so many things at that moment… like making a grand entrance on Toronado to stop that cruel nonsense one more time.

"Four…"

Mendoza whimpered, shaking his head, and swallowed hard. His right hand was shaking so much, he could hit anything or anybody but the man in front of him. Slowly, the lifted the left and clutched the grip with both hands, trying to keep it more stable, but it didn't make a great difference.

"Three…"

Diego saw Death advancing slowly across the plaza toward the firing post, through the crowd (literally), with a broad grin on her pretty face, in delighted anticipation. It was daunting to see how she believed that liberating souls from their mortal bodies was such a good thing. But she truly believed it, and she acted with such kindness it was even spookier. Azrael, on the other hand, stood still at one side, out of the way, unfazed, showing a fatalist, stoic calm that was also unnerving.

"Guardsmen, get ready," Sergeant Romero said. Two soldiers aimed their rifles at Mendoza and the other two at De Soto. The alcalde tried one last time, crying at the top of his lungs.

"It's an order, Jaime! Pull that trigger NOW!"

"Two…"

"Shoot, dammit!"

"Mi alcalde... I'm so sorry. Forgive me, please, I… I… I can't."

"One…"

Mendoza gave up and turned around, with the gun still up in his right hand. One of the guardsmen of the firing squad, fearing he would shoot against them, opened fire, not waiting for Romero's order. The rifle's bullet hit Mendoza square on the chest, at the right spot the soldier was specifically trained to hit.

"NOOOO!" De Soto and Sepúlveda cried at the same time.

Sergeant Romero looked at the trigger-happy soldier, extremely cross. He hadn't given the order to shoot, because he really had no intention of killing Mendoza. Sergeants had to stick together! He was convinced Mendoza would fire that gun, especially after the alcalde had encouraged him to do so, but it was quite remarkable he had refused so strongly. Such loyalty was kind of heroic.

Mendoza fell heavily on his back. He was dead before he hit the ground.

"You, bastards!" De Soto cried, struggling with his bonds once more.

An uproar of indignation rose at the plaza. Sepúlveda tried to reach his fallen comrade, but one of the guardsmen hit the back of his head hard with his rifle and knocked him out cold.

"Let's finish this!" Sergeant Romero said, fearing a revolt. "Guardsmen, take aim… Fire!"

Three bullets hit De Soto's chest at once, but none of them killed him instantly. His head lolled forward, with his body hanging from the post quite floppy, but he kept making some odd, whimpering noises, obviously feeling the pain. Romero checked the pulse on his neck, and of course, he could feel it. He cursed then, upset, and looked around, hesitating, because the only doctor in the area qualified to certify a death was at the hacienda De la Vega. It could still take a while for De Soto to die from those wounds, but he didn't have the time or the will to wait for that to happen.

In the end, he got his gun and finished that man off quickly with a _coup de grâce_ to the head, while people at the plaza got crazy.

ZZZZZ

_**A.N – I'm sorry if I'm upsetting some readers by killing Mendoza, but I can't get my characters to interact with each other as ghosts in this story unless I kill them first.**_

_**Besides, if the screenwriters can kill Han Solo and Tony Stark in films, and the world doesn't end, I can kill Mendoza in fanfiction, no problem. ;) **_

_**I hope my explanation on why Inés was so vindictive makes sense. In the episode, she says: "The destruction of the De la Vegas. You must never forget the humiliation I suffered at the hands of Don Alejandro de la Vega." **_

_**What? What happened there? What humiliation? They didn't say, so… That's my take. In her twisted mind, she convinced herself she had something going on with Don Alejandro, and as she couldn't take "no" for an answer, she stole one of his babies. Crazy stuff, but at least it justifies the hatred a bit.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A.N – Oops, I did it again: I left an unfinished story hanging in… yeah, "limbo" (excuse the pun) for more than a year. A stupid, limbo year this 2020 with a virus that has disrupted everything, even my writing (yes, I'm blaming my procrastination on the Covid-19… After all, governments all around the globe have blamed the virus for so many things, I can get away with that silly excuse, haha). Now, as a new Halloween celebration is approaching, I'll try to finish this story in time for that date, as intended last year, even if this year 2020 it will be a No-Party with facial masks and social distancing… And don't you dare accepting contaminated candy offered by strangers who didn't wash their hands properly, kids!**_

_**(Sigh) **_

_**Enjoy the new chapter, and review if you can. Thanks.**_

_**(And please, thank all the reviewers who have been pestering me to finish my stories. You owe them this chapter!)**_

**Chapter 5**

After the initial gunshots, Victoria lifted her head at the last possible moment, witnessing the last shot directed to De Soto's temple.

"Juan, get me out of here, please!" she said, feeling sick. "Take me to the hacienda. I can't… _Dios mío, _what have they done?!"

Juan guided her away to the carriage waiting for them at the other side of the pueblo, beyond the crowd, while the madly enraged angeleños shouted at the plaza.

If Romero had executed only De Soto, it would not have caused such an outrage, but killing Mendoza was too much, because it was so unfair. A Royal Guard soldier opened fire against the crowd, hitting a peasant in the arm. The angry citizens kept shouting but backed off a bit, scared, because the Spanish _Lanceros de la Guardia Real_ were different to the inept California lancers; these were tough, killing machines that would not hesitate using all their bullets against them.

Diego followed Victoria and Juan. When she climbed up the carriage he tried to sit at her side, but as he could not touch the solid objects of the living, except the ground he stood on, there was no use. When Juan got the horse moving forward, the whole carriage passed across Diego's body, leaving him behind.

"Damn!" Diego cursed to himself, as nobody else could hear him.

Looking back through the dispersing crowd, he saw _La Catrina_ touching Mendoza's forehead briefly, before she approached the alcalde. She had mentioned before someone would go "up", and the most likely candidate for that would be Mendoza. As he really wanted to see how going to heaven was like, Diego gave up on Victoria momentarily and returned to the plaza, also curious to find out which way De Soto would be taken. As the man was so ambiguous, it was hard to tell if he belonged in hell or in heaven.

More used to it now, Diego could come across the assembly of people quickly, not paying any attention to them, walking along and _through_ them, until he ran into a couple of lancers dragging Corporal Sepúlveda to safety. After that blow to the head, the soldier was bleeding profusely through that wound, confused but awake enough to be able to use his legs with a bit of help, stumbling at every step. Surprisingly, when Diego walked their way, Sepúlveda gasped and stopped walking, stunned.

"Don Diego?" the soldier said, the colour suddenly drawn off his already rather pale face.

Diego stopped in his tracks, also shocked.

"Can you see me?"

"You got shot at the hacienda! _Madre de Dios!_ The gipsy was right!"

Sepúlveda fainted due the intense, gripping fear he felt on seeing a ghost up close for the first time. The soldiers helping him looked at each other, and blaming the corporal's hallucination as a side effect of the terrible blow he had received, they carried on, dragging him along through Diego's body.

"Aaargh! Stop doing that, people, for goodness sake!" Diego cried, dusting off his chest in disgust. He watched the soldiers take the unconscious corporal into the garrison, but he didn't follow them.

"Don Diego? Is that you?"

Diego turned around to find Mendoza and De Soto looking at him, puzzled by the situation.

"It can't be! You are dead!" De Soto said. "What's going on, Diego? ¿_Qué está pasando aquí? _I demand an explanation!"

"It's quite obvious, don't you think?" Diego said, pointing at the two dead bodies behind them.

"Are we…?" Mendoza said, grasping at last his situation. "¡_Madre de Dios!_"

"Yes, you are dead, _querido Jaime_," _La Catrina_ said, approaching him from behind, all cheerful, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. She wore her long, wavy, dark hair loose, looking undeniably beautiful, a sheer contrast with her true appearance. "I know, I know... It happened so fast you didn't even notice your own passing. Sorry about that. My bad!"

"Excuse me, señorita. I think I need another drink…" Mendoza said, rushing to the tavern.

Another gunshot scattered the crowd away and the soldiers regained control of the plaza. Unwilling to see how they dealt with his dead body, De Soto followed Mendoza's steps into the tavern, and so did the rest of the strange, spectral group.

ZZZ

When the carriage stopped at the hacienda, Victoria jumped off and ran into the house, frantic, not waiting for Juan.

At the parlour she bumped into Don Alejandro, who welcomed her with open arms, grief-stricken. She took refuge in his embrace like a distraught, lost child seeking comfort.

"How is he? Is he still alive?"

"The doctor is trying to remove the bullet right now," the old on said with a broken voice, joining her in the crying grief. "But he's going to be alright. He has to."

"Is he… Is he really…?" she started, but her voice trailed off until she whispered, afraid anybody else could hear her. "Is he Zorro? For real?"

"You didn't know?" Don Alejandro said, utterly surprised, breaking the embrace to look at her through his drenched, sad eyes.

She cried even more then, devastated, ashamed of herself for being so stupid.

"No, I didn't. Maybe I should have, but I didn't know! I swear!"

"Diego fooled us both then, I'm afraid, because I didn't know either."

Right then, Doctor Hernández joined them at the parlour.

"I have good news, Don Alejandro. I managed to remove the bullet and he is still alive, so there is hope."

"_Gracias a Dios!_"

"Can I see him?" Victoria said.

"Yes, you can, but don't expect much interaction yet. He's still unconscious, and I don't think he'll wake up soon, at least not for a few hours," the doctor said to the anxious couple, keeping the words _"if he ever does"_ to himself. "I'm sorry, but I have to go now. I was required to be at the plaza for the executions this evening."

"Too late for that," Victoria said. "They killed them both already, Sergeant Mendoza and the alcalde. It was awful."

"Still, I have to certify their deaths. I'll be back as soon as I can, Don Alejandro, but I've done all I could for now. Tonight we can only wait, hope, and pray."

"Thank you, Doctor. _Muchas gracias_. I know you did your best."

"Keep a watchful eye on your son until I return, because the next few hours would be critical."

"Yes, of course. I'll see you later."

The doctor left, and the couple hurried to Diego's room. When they got there, Felipe was still cleaning up the mess, disposing of the blood-stained rugs and materials the doctor had used. Not a pretty sight.

Victoria ignored it all and ran to Diego's side to take his hand. He looked so pale she had serious doubts he could still be alive. Heartbroken, she carried on sobbing then, believing she was too late.

ZZZ

Mendoza stopped by the bar and asked for a glass of brandy, but Pilar rudely ignored him to serve another client.

"She can't hear you, or see you," Azrael said, joining the group.

"Well, in that case, I'll serve myself!"

Mendoza tried to grab a bottle of wine from the counter, but his shaky hand could not take hold of it. After a few desperate, frustrating, and futile attempts, Diego took pity on him.

"Why don't you get us a special table we can all use, as before?" Diego said.

"It's already set, over there," Azrael said, pointing at an empty, large table by the kitchen door.

The three dead men and the supernatural beings took a seat at that table. Azrael produced a bottle of Rioja red wine and served Mendoza a generous glass.

"One last drink before your departure won't make you any harm, Sergeant. Enjoy."

"_Gracias. Muchas gracias, señor,_" Mendoza said, gulping it down at once. "Can I have some tamales as well?"

"Don't push it," Azrael said, impassive, setting the bottle on the table. Lifting his head to the ceiling, he stood still for a moment then, quiet, as if listening, until he smiled mysteriously and also served De Soto a glass of the stimulating red liquid. "Drink. You should celebrate your luck."

"You call this _luck_?" De Soto said, shaking his head, incredulous. "I'm dead!"

"_Sí, y es una suerte_," _La Santa Muerte_ said. "_Vamos_, hurry up, Ignacio, because it won't be long before Grumpy comes along. You know, he doesn't waste any time collecting his prizes…"

"_Grumpy_? Who's that?" De Soto said, reaching for the glass, but before he could take it, the ominous, wailing sounds of the approaching demons got him on edge, chilling Mendoza's soul as well. "What's that horrible noise?"

"Don't worry. They can't take you," Azrael said, with his deadpan expression back on his face. "Not yet, anyway."

"Oh, goodie! Do you know something I don't?" _La Parca_ said, clapping enthusiastically. She pointed at the ceiling then. "HIM?"

"Of course, who else? This man's last actions, trying to save his sergeant, got him a last minute, thorough appraisal."

"Smashing!"

The little black demons surrounded the terrified alcalde and started pulling, dragging him off his chair. He screamed, so scared that if his hair wasn't white already, it would have instantly turned that colour.

"Get off me!" he cried, kicking to shake them away, but they only stopped when Azrael stood up, lifted his right hand and commanded with a firm tone:

"Not yet! Back off!"

The little demons let go of their prey, disappointed, and looked at the door for confirmation.

A handsome young man, neatly dressed with a white suit, black shirt and shiny, black leather shoes, entered the tavern. He approached their table, walking with a confident swagger.

"Always the party pooper, Az. Lighten up a bit, will you?"

"Oh, my… Look at you!" _La Catrina said_, giggling cheerfully. "I can't believe it!"

"Yes, I got an upgrade, my dear, just like you," the man said, turning around very slowly so she could fully appreciate his wide shoulders and tight, yummy arse. "Dress to impress… Do you like it?"

"Hell, yeah!" she said, nodding in appreciation. "Terrific!"

Diego couldn't help it and chuckled when he saw Azrael's expression, no longer calm and pokerfaced but truly irritated, if only for a split second. Besides, De Soto and Mendoza's bewildered faces were something to behold.

The young man turned to look at him with a maleficent glare. The little demons regrouped by his master, ready for action.

"What are you laughing at? Do you think this is funny?"

That look triggered an overwhelming, primal sense of horror, fear, and revulsion in Diego. Something he had never felt before.

"No. No, of course not," Diego said, gulping. "Carry on."

The Lord of Darkness tugged at his white jacket, refitting it proudly, and faced the Archangel.

"Az, don't be a pain, and get out of the way. This maggot is mine, and you know it."

Azrael stood his ground, arms crossed over his chest.

"He was, but no more. I have new orders: his case will be reviewed."

"Bummer… All right, if you insist on keeping him here, I'll take the other one instead," the Dark Angel said, pointing at Mendoza, who nearly pissed his ethereal pants in fear.

"In your dreams, love. He's going up, everybody knows that," _La Catrina_ said. She laughed at his sulky, disappointed face, and took his arm in hers. "Come with me, _guapetón_, so this won't be a wasted trip. See you later, guys!"

Satan looked down at the Archangel then, triumphant, and proudly walked the cheerful, beautiful maid to the door, followed by a cohort of minute, black demons.

"_Hasta la vista_," Azrael muttered, shaking his head. For a moment, Diego caught a glimpse of a well-hidden, deep pain in the Archangel's longing eyes, before he leaned to help De Soto up. When they sat down again at the table, he was calmed and poised, as if nothing had happened.

De Soto gulped down his glass of wine and then looked at Diego, befuddled.

"What's going on? What happened?"

"Well… Welcome to _Limbo_, Ignacio," Diego said, as cheerfully as he could. "The more, the merrier, I suppose."

ZZZ

"He looks so pale," Victoria said while holding Diego's cold, inert hand. She tentatively stroked his cheek with her other hand, ever so gently. "And he's cold."

"He has lost a lot of blood, but he is strong. He's going to make it. Yes, he's going to be all right," Don Alejandro said, repeating his mantra.

"Diego must be stronger than I ever thought he was… because he is Zorro. Funny, I always thought he was a man of many talents, but physical strength wasn't one of them."

"Me neither. And I am deeply ashamed to confess how disappointed I was on him, because he always looked so… bland. But now I know it was only an act. And excellent performance, I have to say."

Felipe approached his mentor to take his pulse, as instructed by Doctor Hernández. It was weak, but at least quite regular.

"Felipe, you knew about this," Don Alejandro said. "Please, tell me: how on earth did he do it? How could he pull this deception off for so long all by himself? I mean, you helped him, but… how?"

Felipe shrugged his shoulders as he finished counting heartbeats, uncomfortable, avoiding Don Alejandro's eyes. No, despite what he had promised, he didn't want to explain anything concerning Zorro. At least not while Diego was still alive.

Victoria felt sorry for the troubled youngster, and used a distraction to get the old don off his back.

"Don Alejandro, why don't you go and change your clothes now? Diego is stable, and the doctor said he won't wake up for a while. You'll feel better if you freshen up and get rid of… of…" Victoria said, pointing at the blood stains covering his torso, but she couldn't finish the sentence. Looking at all that dry blood was a cruel reminder of how ill Diego really was.

Don Alejandro looked down at his bloodstained clothes, forearms, and hands, realizing fully for the first time how bad they looked with all that dry blood covering them.

"You are right, I should wash this off. Felipe, would you be so kind to help me filling up the basin with warm water? I think Victoria would like to have a bit of time alone with Diego," he finished with a knowing, sympathetic wink.

"Thank you, Don Alejandro," she said, kissing Diego's hand as they left. "Yes, I do. I surely do."

_Sorry, Felipe. I'm afraid my plan to get you off the hook misfired…_

ZZZ

Sepúlveda woke up at the infirmary. He was alone, lying on a bed, aching and disoriented. Ignoring the dizziness, he sat up and touched his temple. A bulky dressing covered the wound on his head, which was throbbing and hurting as if someone was hitting it with a mallet.

When he recalled the grisly scene at the plaza, he lay down again. Mendoza and De Soto had been executed and he had… seen a ghost!

A few months ago, at the market, a gipsy woman he had never seen before in his life told him he had a gift, something she called "the shining", _el resplandor_. She insisted he should be able to communicate with the dead, but he just laughed it off, because it wasn't the case. Although, his grandmother was a half-blood gipsy, and she had always claimed she could "see things," like many of her ancestors, for generations. Which was a ridiculous notion, of course…

Trying to rationalize his fear, he told himself he had only seen Don Diego because of the blow to the head and the confusion it had caused, and that the gipsy's words were only a coincidence. A mistake. A stupid farse designed to con stupid, gullible people, because no one could see and talk to the dead!

Unless… that blow to the head had triggered a hidden, dormant power within, and now he could see the deceased… For real.

He decided then he was in urgent need of a glass of brandy, or even better, a whole bottle. He was still dressed in his uniform, boots and all, so he slowly got up and walked a few tentative steps away from that bed. As he could manage quite well standing more or less in a vertical position, he headed to the tavern at a snail's pace.

When he arrived there, he walked straight to the counter and asked for the strong drink. When he turned around to look at the patrons, glass in hand, he spotted the odd group at a table by the kitchen door. A table that had never been there before. A table full of… ghosts!

The glass slipped off his fingers and hit the floor, smashing in tiny little pieces. Most people turned to look at him, including the spectral group.

"Corporal, are you all right?" Pilar said, coming out from behind the counter to clean up the mess. "It looks as if you've seen a ghost!"

"Excuse me, I have to go… I don't feel so well… My head," he said, rushing out of the tavern as fast as he could go. Which wasn't fast at all.

"Sepúlveda can see us!" Mendoza cried when he saw the corporal's horrified expression, and how he ran away.

"Yes, he can; he saw me at the plaza before," Diego said, standing up. "We should talk to him. Maybe he can help us."

"Sepúlveda!" Sergeant Mendoza called, dashing to the door.

Mendoza and the others caught up with him outside, before he could reach the garrison.

"Sepúlveda! Stop!" Mendoza cried.

"No!" the corporal cried, walking faster, ignoring him.

"Please! Look at me!"

"Live me alone! I saw you die. You are not really here!"

"Yes, I am."

"Stop, Corporal! It's an order!" De Soto cried in his most authoritative tone.

"You can't give me orders, Alcalde; you are dead!" Sepúlveda cried as he continued his slow progress towards the garrison, not turning back once to face the spirits that followed him.

Mendoza stepped in front of him to face him.

"It's really me, Sergeant Mendoza! Your… _friend_."

"No, you are not my friend. You are a by-product of my imagination and my brain damage! Go away!" Sepúlveda cried, walking around the _fantasma,_ avoiding him.

"How could I do this if I was imaginary, ah?" Mendoza said, grabbing his arm roughly to stop him, but the corporal rejected the contact, screaming mad in fear. The Royal Guards still at the plaza looked at him, laughing at the man who was talking to himself and screaming like a lunatic.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone! _Por favor!_"

"See? How could I touch you if I wasn't here? Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Nor are we," Diego said, pointing at himself and De Soto.

Sepúlveda covered his eyes with his arms, shaking in fear.

"Please, go away! Please! All of you!"

"Corporal, if you are the only person who can see us, we really need to talk. You could be our only link to the living world. Our…medium," Diego said. "Please, I beg you!"

The corporal slowly lowered his arms to look at the trio of desperate men surrounding him. They didn't look like menacing, vindictive ghosts, but sad, anxious beings that looked and acted like… well, their usual selves, only paler.

"_You_ are begging _me_?"

"Yes! You could give our last messages to our loved ones before we go to whichever place we are going," Diego said.

"I don't have any loved ones," De Soto said, sulking.

"Me neither, but please, help us," Mendoza said. "Talking to you makes me feel better."

Sepúlveda gulped, hesitating. He realized the Spanish soldiers were looking at him, laughing, so he lowered his voice and looked at the ground, pretending not to talk to the thin air anymore.

"What do you want me to do?" he whispered.

"Come back to the tavern with us and we'll talk it over," Diego said.

Sepúlveda agreed, reluctantly, and followed the odd group back to the tavern because he really needed that glass of brandy… And better make it a double!

ZZZZZ


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"My grandmother was a gipsy," Sepúlveda said, lost in thought. "Well, half-gipsy only. _Medio gitana_."

The corporal sat at the ghostly table with the three dead men and Azrael, finally drinking his soothing glass of brandy in good company. However, to the living people present in the tavern, he sat alone on a solitary chair by the kitchen door, drinking like a pitiful drunkard from an empty glass, and talking to himself. With that dressing on his head, he was a pathetic, sorry sight. The patrons suspected he had suffered some serious, permanent brain damage with that blow, but for the moment, they left him alone in case he was just drunk and upset by the dreadful events of the day, because every time someone approached him, he insisted he was fine.

"She had the gift of seeing into the afterlife. She could talk to the dead, like that gipsy at the market said I should."

"It looks like you have inherited that gift, Corporal," Diego said. "Congratulations."

"This is not a gift, Don Diego, it's a curse! I didn't know I had it… And I don't want it!"

"Why? It's a wonderful gift. Think about it: you could bring so much comfort to people who have lost a loved one, and to the deceased who want to communicate with them."

"Yes, like me. Please, would you be so kind to tell señorita Teresa I loved her?" Mendoza said with a dreamy stare.

"Teresa Sánchez? The seamstress daughter? You never said anything about her," Sepúlveda said, sceptical.

"Well, I loved her from afar… And I can't think of anybody else I would like to tell anything right now, so… there! Tell her!"

Mendoza served himself another glass of wine, also filling Sepúlveda's empty glass. Azrael shook his head disapprovingly, but let them be. After all, it was a special occasion: you only die once.

"I do. I would like to talk to señorita Escalante, _por favor_," Diego said.

"That's right, because you really are Zorro, aren't you?" De Soto said with a twinge of envy. "The mighty, righteous, daring Zorro… How could you fool me for so long, Diego? It's truly beyond me."

"Because you were such a fool, maybe?" Diego said, laughing at De Soto's irritation. "How could you not know, Ignacio? Or anybody else, for that matter… Come on, let's be honest here: there are not many men as tall as I am with dark hair, a moustache, and blue eyes around this _pueblo_, are they?"

"You know, I should hate you right now, smartarse, but strangely enough, I don't. I think dying made me mellow, somehow... Go figure!"

"Don Diego, now that you mentioned your eye colour and your height, it should have been easy, yes, but the truth is that finding out _you_ are Zorro is shocking news for us all," Mendoza said, with Sepúlveda nodding in agreement. "I had never suspected you could be the one under that black mask, not in a million years. By the way, did señorita Victoria know?"

Diego shook his head slowly, sad.

"No. And my father didn't know either."

"You were such an idiot, Diego, fooling around with Victoria for so long… And for what?" De Soto said. "If you really loved her, you should have made an honest woman out of her, and not the village whore."

"Hey, watch your mouth!" Diego cried, pointing a threatening finger at his face.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that," De Soto apologized, looking at that finger, imagining it inside a black leather glove and about to punch his face, as it had happened so many times, "but that was the impression some people had of her, and it was only your fault they felt that way. Please, continue."

"What could I have done, ah? Alcalde Luis Ramón would have realized I was Zorro if I had married her, and you were not much different, always on the hunt for clues about my identity. Besides, you two wackos always used Victoria as bait to catch me. How could I marry her and keep her safe at the same time? It was impossible!"

"You could have left the territory, or stop playing the mighty Zorro, for example," De Soto said. "Just a thought."

"If you had behaved like a fair leader in this pueblo, and not like a crazy bastard obsessed with catching the legendary Zorro to boost your career in Madrid, maybe I would have!"

"To be fair, he wasn't as bad as Ramón, let's give him that," Sepúlveda said, adding his two cents.

"Thank you, Corporal," De Soto said, raising his glass to him. "Of course I wasn't a crazy psychopath like my predecessor, but you are right: I could have been a better Alcalde and treat my citizens more fairly."

Suddenly, a bright, vertical tunnel of shimmering, yellow light came down from the ceiling. All of them, except Azrael, looked at it in awe.

"Is that…?" Diego said, mesmerized.

"Yes, it's the Highway to Heaven," Azrael said matter-of-factly.

"That's my ticket! It looks like all this mellowing and fake understanding has paid off," De Soto said, standing up. "So long, suckers!"

He left the table to quickly walk into the light column but he was rejected, pushed away at great speed, flying to the other side of the tavern as if kicked by a furious horse.

"What are you doing, you fool?" Azrael said, losing it a bit, for once showing some emotion. "That's not for you!"

"I think it is for you, Sergeant," Diego said.

"Do you think so, Don Diego?"

"I'm certain. You never hurt a fly in your life."

Death materialized out of nowhere then, close to the tunnel.

"Of course it's for you, my dear Jaime!" she said, clapping with joy like an annoying cymbal monkey. "Come on in!"

"You're back," Azrael said as apathetically as usual, in sharp contrast with her enthusiasm.

"Obviously! I wouldn't miss it for the world!" she said, taking Mendoza's hand.

"Me? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Come on, you may not have any significant loved ones left in this world, but surely you have someone up there waiting for you."

"My… mother?" Mendoza said, with tears in his eyes. "I always wanted to meet her."

"Yes, among many others: your father, grandparents, cousins, aunties, uncles... They all want to meet you too. It's a party! Come on, step in. There you go!"

He hesitated again, still not sure, unwilling to be kicked out too if deemed unworthy. Meanwhile, De Soto returned to the table, embarrassed, to place a hand on Mendoza's shoulder.

"Sergeant, you deserve it. So, walk in there right now before the tunnel closes, or I will try again myself until they have to blow me apart!"

"_Gracias, mi alcalde_," he said, hugging him. "I hope I get to see you up there soon. Goodbye, everybody!"

"So long, Mendoza," De Soto said, pushing his back gently towards the gleaming channel.

Mendoza entered the column of light, disintegrating in thousands of tiny bright particles that ascended slowly, spiralling up. As that happened, the glowing column gradually dissipated behind him, closing itself down.

"Wow…" Sepúlveda said, out of words.

"Wonderful!" _La Catrina_ said, wiping a stray tear off her cheek.

"You cannot be serious…" Azrael said, incredulous. "After all this time you still get emotional like that? You have to be kidding me!"

"Well, some souls are special. Precious. And Jaime was one of them," she replied, annoyed.

"All right, whatever… So, who will be next?" Azrael said, looking at Diego and De Soto. "We are so behind schedule here… We'll have to work hard to―"

"Excuse me," De Soto interrupted, "who are you, again?"

"Sorry, after all this talking, I still haven't introduced myself properly: Azrael, at your service."

"Who?"

Azrael looked at Diego, rolling his eyes.

"See? Nobody knows me."

"Pity," Diego said with a half-smile. Death chuckled a bit, greatly entertained.

"I have to go now, Az. _You know who_ is waiting for me," Death said, looking at Azrael intently, but he didn't react to the lie. "I'll let you discuss your manly, very important matters on your own, guys," she added, disappointed, before she disappeared into thin air.

"I know you want to help us progress from here, but I really want to talk to Victoria," Diego said. "Corporal, when could we visit the hacienda?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Don Diego," Sepúlveda said, uncomfortable.

"Stop harassing that poor man. He can't help you," Azrael said.

"Why not? He can see us! And talk to us!" De Soto said, irritated with the soft-mannered man.

"So?" Azrael said, unfaced. "You should leave him alone. The dead should not interfere with the affairs of the living."

"If that's true, why some people have the ability to talk to the dead, ah?" Diego insisted.

"Necromancers are a breach of the system, a faulty glitch. You should stay away."

"Why?" De Soto said. "And who are you to give us orders, anyway?"

Azrael smiled kindly, as if talking to a child.

"I told you: I'm Azrael, _el Angel de la Muerte_."

"Yeah, right, an angel… Give me a break!"

Right then, an old gypsy woman came into the tavern, selling flowers in small bouquets.

"That's the _gitana_ I told you about!" Sepúlveda said. "She's here!"

She spotted him and approached their table, smiling knowingly at the corporal.

"Do you believe me now, _mijo_?" she said, nodding at Diego and De Soto. When she looked at Azrael, she dropped the flowers, totally shocked. "_¡Madre del amor hermoso! ¡Alabado sea el Señor!_"

"What's the matter with you, woman?" De Soto said, not understanding her attitude.

"What an honour to be in your compassionate presence, Archangel Azrael!" _la gitana_ said, falling on her knees, praying with her hands intertwined together over her head, feeling unworthy of looking at him in the eye.

Sepúlveda looked around, embarrassed, because she was making a scene. Other people stared at them, so he made a gesture to dismiss the woman as a crazy, deluded creature in need of help. He took her arm, trying to get her up, but she refused.

Azrael stood up then. Diego could swear his whole body glowed like soft moonlight.

"Stand up, sweet lady, please," the Archangel said kindly. "You must be touched by the light if you can see me and identify me. Not many mortals can do that."

"She's really gifted," Sepúlveda said, proud of her. "But, wait a minute… _Archangel_?"

"She's mental, you are not such thing!" De Soto said. "Where are your wings then if you are an angel, let alone an Archangel? Come on, you're just another poor devil who has kicked the bucket, like the rest of us, but with delusions of grandeur."

"I'm not exactly the same as you, no," Azrael said, with a playful smirk.

"Prove it! Show me your wings right now, if you have any!"

"As you wish. Just give me some space."

They backed off a bit, away from him. Then, with a loud, unfurling sound like a sail deployed against the wind, a pair of huge wings and two smaller ones extended suddenly from Azrael's back, just to make his point.

Marvelled by the rise of those white-feathered, giant wings, the woman talked quickly in Romani, with words that sounded like total gibberish, leaning forward repeatedly, bowing in reverence of such an amazing sight.

"And that's why I don't usually let them out…" Azrael said, retracting the wings slowly, drawing them back out of sight, not as quickly as they had appeared, "…because they cause hysteria."

All people present in the tavern looked at the strange woman who bowed repeatedly to no one in particular, side to side with Sepúlveda, thinking craziness was catchy.

De Soto blinked in disbelief, gaping.

"Who… are… you?"

"I'll say it one more time, as you seem to be quite thick: I'm the Archangel Azrael, also known as _The Angel of Death_. I help souls in need, such as yourselves, and aid them in the transition to death, assisting them in the crossing to the other side."

"But I'm not dead yet," Diego said, quite optimistic, but the look Azrael sent him then, took all the hope away. "Oh."

"Sorry, I didn't set the rules. As Death said before, you may not be _technically_ dead yet, but…"

"It won't be long before she does her final trick on me…" Diego said.

Azrael didn't say anything else. There was no need. If Diego still cherished the hope of somehow carrying on living, that feeling got shattered right then.

"As time is short, that's one more reason to see Victoria now," Diego said, standing up. "I can't ride a horse, so I'll walk to the hacienda. You know where to find me if you need me."

"Don't go," Azrael said. "Sit down, _por favor_. We have work to do."

"Please, let me check on her. At least let me see her for a moment, even if I can't talk to her. I need this. Please."

"All right. If you insist, let's go for a stroll. You two, stay here," Azrael said, pointing at De Soto and Sepúlveda, "and you, my sweet lady, _vaya con Dios_."

"_¡Gracias al cielo! ¡Alabado sea!_" she cried, still bowing as they left.

ZZZ

"What's up between you and Death?" Diego asked after they left the pueblo, walking on the dusty road to the hacienda De la Vega in the dark, under the pale moonlight.

"Nothing," Azrael said, evasive.

"Nothing? I don't think so. You obviously like her. Why don't you do something about it?"

"Look who's talking… Why didn't you do something with your Victoria, when you had the chance?"

"_Touché_, but we are talking about you, not me. So, what's the deal?"

"Well… it's complicated."

"That's the excuse we losers always tell ourselves: _"complicated"_. Why is it complicated?"

"For starters, a relationship between us would be against regulations, and very unprofessional."

"Unprofessional? And what about that demon in white? He seems interested, and I don't think he cares much about regulations."

"Exactly, he doesn't really care about rules of any kind, and that's why he is where he is: in hell. And I can't compete with his charm."

"So, you are willing to let him take your girl into the dark side, and do nothing about it?"

"Diego, please, stop prodding. This "love triangle" ―if you wish to call it that― has been going on for thousands of years. I don't appreciate your input, dissecting it as if you have a clue of what you're talking about."

"I see…"

"You see… what?"

"Nothing. Denial is so convenient sometimes. Painless, even."

Azrael grabbed Diego's arm and they instantly travelled to the hacienda.

"Wow, that was fast!"

"I had to. I couldn't carry on discussing private matters with you. Now, you have five minutes, hurry up."

Azrael disappeared. Diego stood by the entrance, hesitating for a moment. Then, he walked through the door like a pro.

ZZZ

Don Alejandro was alone with Diego in his room when his son's spirit entered through the closed door. Now wearing clean clothes without a trace of Diego's blood, he sat by the immobile body resting on the bed, holding his hand, opening his heart to him when he thought nobody else was listening.

"How could you do this all by yourself? Why didn't you tell me?" the old don said, tapping Diego's hand. "You should have trusted me to keep your secret. And I should have known… Like today, when you handled that sword as you did with your left hand fighting Risendo, and I still didn't suspect you could be Zorro. Forgive me for being so blind… So blind and so stupid!"

"Father," Diego said, laying a hand on his shoulder, but of course, the old man couldn't feel him, or hear him, consumed by all that guilt and sadness.

Don Alejandro looked at his son's right elbow then, where the unhealed gunshot wound had stained the white sleeve with blood.

"You got shot and I didn't know you were hurting. How many times did that happen? I could have helped you so much in your fight, if you had let me… Things would have been so different…"

"I know you would have helped me, and I'm sorry for not telling you, but I wanted to keep you safe. You, and Victoria, and everybody else."

"How come you only told Felipe? That young lad had to carry such a weight in his young shoulders… There he is now, so responsible, taking care of Toronado for you with Victoria. The woman you should have married years ago, and now this house would be full of lively children, and instead will be empty for ever… Because even if you survive this, they are going to kill you, my son, and I won't be able to save you. I'm so sorry!"

Don Alejandro burst in tears again, devastated. As Diego could not comfort him, and watching his father crying like that was too much to bear, he went down to the cave to check on Victoria and Felipe.

ZZZ

Felipe was tending for Toronado, cleaning up his stall. When he went to fill up his bucket with fresh water, Victoria stayed with the horse, feeding him a carrot.

"Attaboy, Toronado…" she said, tapping his muscular neck. "My goodness, who would have thought you were only a few steps down from that library? For all the time the alcaldes searched for your hiding place… and you were here, right under their nose!"

"Yes, he's been a very good boy. He never neighed loud enough to reveal his location," Diego said, approaching them.

Toronado neighed happily then, snorting, bobbing his head to call him to his side.

"Toronado, can you see me?" Diego said, surprised. He wasn't expecting that at all.

The horse bobbed his head again, thumping the ground.

"I'll be damned!"

"Felipe, what is he doing?" Victoria asked when the youngster returned with the bucket. "He was quiet, but now he looks quite agitated, I don't know why. Did he choke with the carrot?"

_ That's odd_, Felipe signed, looking at the stallion. _He's acting as if… as if Diego was talking to him right now. But that's impossible._

Toronado leaned on Diego's chest, rubbing his face against him as he scratched his neck, snorting softly.

"That's because I'm here. And you can see me, can't you, old boy?" Diego said, enjoying the interaction greatly. Shame Victoria couldn't see him. Or anybody else but Sepúlveda and the gipsy.

"Do you mean, he's talking to Diego… _now_?" Victoria said, looking around. "Diego… are you here?"

"Yes!"

Felipe and Victoria looked around again, spooked, but they couldn't see or hear anything.

"Let's be rational here…" she said, stroking the goose bumps that had suddenly appeared in her arms. "Diego is upstairs, alive. How could his spirit be here? Unless…"

They ran upstairs in a panic then. Diego wanted to follow them, but he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Your time is up, love."

Toronado moved to the back of the stall, stumping on the ground, looking distressed. Diego turned around to find Death behind him.

"Really? Already? I hardly had any time with them!"

"That's what Az said, to come and get you."

"You follow his orders?"

"No, he can't order me to do anything. I'm just helping him. He's busy with that other guy with the white hair. He is a handful, that one."

"Yes, I know."

Toronado kept neighing and rushing from side to side at the back of the stall, as if afraid of fire.

"Hey, horsy, calm down! I'm not taking you. Well, not yet..."

"Can I ask you something?" Diego said, hesitant.

"Yeah, sure. Shoot!"

"What's the deal between you and that demon in white, the handsome one?"

"_Grumpy_? He's fun."

"Is that all? Just _fun_?"

"Why?"

"I just wonder, because I thought you'd be more interested in Azrael..."

"Diego, are you really meddling in our affairs?" she said, laughing away. "How charming. A regular match-making gossiper, you are!"

"Not at all. That's not my intention."

"Well… what can I say? You're right. I like older men."

"_Older?_ But that's absurd. It makes zero sense. You three are zillions of years old, and you can take whatever appearance you like!"

"Yeap. Don't try to find any logic in my words. After all, _Love has no rhyme and no reason_._It strikes with a passionate fire, engulfing the hearts in flame…"_

"Yeah, I know that one."

"For me, the Dark Angel is the passion, the fire, but Azrael is the calmed wisdom. I use Grumpy to spur him into action, but he never makes a move… Aaaah… men. I'll never understand them!"

"I always thought Angels had no gender…"

"That's a misconception. Some are really well equipped. You'd be surprised." She winked, laughing at Diego's appalled expression. "Come on, enough of this, or we'll we late."

"But I still want to…"

_La Catrina_ reached for his arm and they disappeared before he could finish his sentence.

ZZZZZ

_**A.N – Thank you readers for your nice reviews. Keep them coming, feed the review-craving monster to inspire the Muse! **_


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